That Seventies Swap
by seriousish
Summary: American Hustle crossover. When she was young, Raven took the form of a little girl named Rosalyn. Now on the run in 1979, she decides it's time to return the favor, lose some of the heat by taking Rosalyn's place. She didn't expect Rosalyn to be living with a pair of con artists-or what they got up to when their kid went to bed.
1. Swing It Part 1

_I love my wife. That is, of course, I love Sydney. Sydney's wonderful, she's amazing, you know Sydney. But Rosalyn, my ex-wife—okay, I love her too. What can I say, the heart's not one of those computer-machines that just boops and beeps. It sings, it makes its own music, and I never quite could stop seeing all the great things about Rosalyn I fell in love with. And I'm especially not one of those guys, two or three ex-wives and every one of them supposedly a cunt, whining about paying child support, what a bunch of schmucks. No. We've had our differences, but Rosalyn, she's a peach._

_Maybe… more like a volcano. From a distance, all you see is the majesty and the glory of nature, and you know in time all that ash and lava is gonna seep into the soil and make all sorts of flowers grow. It's great. Ya gotta love that kinda business. Then up close—you're running for your life, praying you don't die from being set on fire. And when the lava's just a metaphor, I suppose it just counts as… interesting._

_Only she was dating a mobster named Pete Musane with the Meyer Lansky crime family, so the lava was really a metaphor for dying some other, hopefully less painful way._

He should've known she was coming from the cab. It overshot pulling up to the curb, one tire lurching up onto the sidewalk. Irving knew Rosalyn wasn't driving, but she was just a magnet for that kind of fuck-up. She'd married him, after all.

Out came the woman herself, dressed in a gingham/tie combo blouse that changed patterns on the cuffs, the sleeves, the lapels. She could've been wearing a kaleidoscope almost. Thankfully for his odds of developing cataracts, her pants were simple white slacks and her shoes were Hollandia platform wedges.

The second she was on her feet, out came a lighter and Marlboro, out from her purse like she was a gunslinger pulling six-shooters. "Irving, baby, I couldn't smoke in the cab. What's the country coming to when you can't smoke in a cab you hire? It's my dime, I need to smoke—honestly, I should just start riding a bike everywhere. Who'd be laughing then, all the cab companies out of business? Me! Me and my toned calves."

There Irving had been, out on his porch in a plastic lawn chair that wasn't too comfortable, but was just comfortable enough to make him too lazy to go elsewhere. He'd been drinking a pretty nice Orange Julius from a antique sherry copita he'd bought at a great price from a secondhand store, and there was a good splash of white rum in it to keep things copacetic. He'd always thought that too much alcohol could ruin the nice groovy flavor an Orange Julius strove for, but this one had just the right amount. Now that he was semi-retired, mastering things like the right amount of alcohol in something was becoming important to him.

Then he saw Rosalyn and, Irving could've sworn, he knew how dogs felt when they sensed earthquakes. He felt like barking up a storm. His heart was beating faster too, because as ridiculous as that top was, it was pretty tight and the pants were even tighter. She was so beautiful she gave him heartburn. If only he'd told that to her on their honeymoon, it would've gone much better.

He talked like he was trying to swallow peanut butter. "Rosie—Rosalyn. What are you doing here? It's still our week with Danny." The kid was out with Sydney. Small favors.

"Thank Christ for that," Rosalyn said, stomping across the yard. It really worried him when they both agreed on something. "I don't want him to see me like this. My make-up's a mess, Irving. I've been _crying._"

"Your make-up looks fine."

But talking with Rosalyn was like trying to stop a boulder from rolling downhill. Once it got started. "You were right about Pete. I don't say that often enough, but you were _so right. _He was a _total _jerk, complete asshole, he _bamboozled _me, Irv. Made me think he was a sweet, caring guy like you but that MOTHERFUCKER has no class, no taste, no redeeming qualities, I must've mixed up my pills to see anything in that COCKSUCKER!"

"Honey, we've got neighbors," Irving pleaded.

Try to get in the way of a boulder rolling downhill and: "What do you care, divorcee living with some loose woman, not even an American, and a kid who's not even yours. You think they don't gossip? You bet those motherfuckers gossip. Probably think you stole Danny. Have the police been around asking about him?"

Before Irving could catch up with every last sentence of that, the cabbie honked his horn. "Hey!" he called, leaning out the window. "She say you pay when we get here!"

"I've got it," she assured him. "I just need five bucks. And you'll get my bags from the trunk? It's only fair, I loaded them in. Me and the driver. _And he wouldn't let me smoke!" _Rosalyn growled.

Irving dug into his corduroys for a crinkled five dollar bill, which came out to be snatched from his hands by Rosalyn. She marched back to the cab, Irving trailing after her.

"You know what that bastard Pete Musane did? He was a fucking pervert, that's what. Fucking dirty movies and he wanted to take pictures of me in—_things. _He even almost put his thumb up my ass. You're a sick fuck, Irving, I don't mean that, but he makes you look like Prince fucking Charming." She leaned into the cab. "Pop the hood! Can't you see he's getting my bags?" And she slapped the money down on the passenger seat. Her train of thought finished chugging up a hill and came down the slope. "Honestly, Pete Musane, probably involved in some kind of Satanic cult like on the news, it would not surprise me at all. Trying to lure me into some kind of sexual _human sacrifice _like those people do. You should be damn glad I made it out of there alive. Danny could be half an orphan right now if it weren't for my women's intuition. C'mon, hurry up with the bags, I need you to comfort me."

Irving realized he was still holding his Orange Julius when she plucked it out of his hand and took a sip. "Yeah, just like this. Make me another one of these. I'll get the door for you, too." She went to the front door of his and Sydney's home, drink in hand.

He got the bags. It took four trips. The cabbie did not help. Irving took one of his heart pills.


	2. Swing It Part 2

_I suppose I always saw Rosalyn Rosenfeld as something of a cancer. No, that's too mean. I meant it in the sense that a tumor can be benign, and that you don't judge people for having them. I never saw Irving as cheating on me with Rosalyn, or what he and I had as him cheating on her. Duplicitous, I suppose. But I simply considered Irving as having this sort of medical condition—or mental illness—of a wife and adopted son, and the same way you'd support someone with a fear of heights, I put up with him having—a wife and adopted son._

_Strangely enough, I never really hated Rosalyn either. It was more that I assumed all the irritation Irving felt toward her and couldn't get out. It wasn't like one of those noir films where a woman wants to bump off her husband or something so she can be with her lover. I just wanted a decent excuse to slap her. Just once._

When she came home from work, Sydney felt like a different person. At the art gallery, she knew she belonged, knew she was legitimate, but there was a voice in her head with an English accent. It told her she didn't. It told her she was a fraud. Dirt-poor girl from Minnesota. She came home to a beautiful house and a loving husband and a good kid, she knew the voice was full of shit.

Except that day. That day, Rosalyn Rosenfeld was in her house, hanging up crystals like the place needed wind chimes inside. "These," she was telling Danny, "are quartz crystals, very powerful. Everyone used to use them, the Chinese, the Indians, the Hawaiians, until the white man came and told everyone that needles worked better. Who likes needles? Except in acupuncture. Anyway, once we have them all around the house, they're gonna create an energy grid of healing power—"

"I can explain," Irving said behind her.

Sydney turned and took a deep breath. "I'm not angry."

"No, you're a rational, calm, beautiful woman who knows there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this."

She nodded. "Yes. A patient woman. See how patient I'm being? Waiting for that very reasonable explanation?"

"I think Pete kicked her out and—she needs to stay with us a couple days."

"A couple days."

"Maybe a few weeks."

"Few weeks?"

"Definitely not a month. Not a month."

Sydney refused to turn around as the tinkling of a crystal sounded behind her, like an echo. "Could I talk to you outside, please? I don't think I can spend another five seconds in this house without ripping around all the crystal shit your ex-wife is putting up."

They stepped out onto the backyard porch. Very calmly, Sydney took the paperback she was reading out of her purse. Looking for Mr. Goodbar by Judith Rossner. She slapped Irving with it, hitting the stiff spine against his shoulder. He yowled low-key, shielding his face, but gritting his teeth more than defending himself. She stopped after a few seconds.

"_Why?"_

"Why?"

"Why is that woman in our house?" Sydney demanded, her voice becoming more strident but not necessarily louder.

"Because her relationship ended and she's got nowhere else to go—"

"Big surprise! It's _Rosalyn. _She'd marry Charlie Manson if he was single!"

"I don't think he is married, actually."

Sydney hefted the paperback threateningly.

"Okay! Okay." Irving straightened his lapels. "If you knew this was coming—"

"Ha! You didn't?"

He shook his head. "If _you knew, _what was your plan going to be?"

"Put her ass in a motel!"

"A motel." He nodded along with her insistent look. "A fucking motel, the mother of my child—"

"Jesus Christ…"

"I'm just—hey—" Irving slammed his hands into his pockets. "I'm thinking about Danny here. I want all his parents to get along and like each other because that's what normal, well-adjusted kids have with their parents. Okay? Not some shit about his mom getting thrown out on the street and coming to his father and getting just some fucking change for a _motel. _That's not something healthy people have in the back of their brain. That's some shit from the funny pages, that's what makes you grow up to fight Spider-Man."

"Spider-Man," she repeated caustically. "Irving, _what the fuck would you know about healthy people?_"

He looked inside. Rosalyn was holding Danny up so he could hang a crystal over the window. The kid looked so happy.

Her hands were suddenly on his face like ice, that's how cold they were. They forced his eyes into hers. "You know I've always been proud of you? Throughout this whole crazy thing, there was only one time it was hard. I could be pissed at you, I could be worried for you, but there was only one time I almost wasn't proud. That first time you told me how you conned people. And it wasn't you—" Her voice wasn't solid. It was creaking like thin ice. "It wasn't you I was ashamed of, it was _us. _I was thinking 'am I really the person who can be in love with this guy?' But even then we were so much alike. It was like I could hear your voice in my head. We all con each other, right? You're just better at it. We're just better at it. But for a moment there, I was ashamed to be in love with you. Just that once." She looked down at her hand like she'd forgotten she was holding a book in it. She put it back in her purse. She was still wearing her purse, she was still wearing her coat. It made things easier. "Two times now."

And she walked out. Irving took one of his heart pills.


	3. Swing It Part 3

_I never hated Sydney. I'm just not a hateful person. I was angry *with her* for Irving being weak and her taking advantage of that, but men cheat. It was a fact of life. My father cheated on my mom and my mom told me that my grandfather had cheated on Nana, so there've always been whores and men who just need a little something extra on the side. I don't mind that. _

_It's not like I haven't thought about it myself even. I've had some pretty intense dreams about David Cassidy, but I don't wanna *fall in love* with the guy, right?, I don't wanna move to Hollywood and live in his basement or something. I keep things in perspective, and Irving never had that without me. No perspective. Everything's just these trees, look at this big tree Rosalyn, look at this little tree, trees trees trees trees. And here I am, looking at the forest. I came up with that myself, by the way, don't ask me where I got it, I'm always thinking up philosophical shit like that, I should write some of it down._

Irving couldn't sleep that night. He laid in bed, thinking if only he could call her, if only he knew where she was so he could call her, if only she had a little phone she could put in her pocket and he could call her on that. Yeah, right. And then he could call the Enterprise and tell Mr. Scotty to beam him over to her.

It was a good house he'd bought. Solid house. Thick walls. Voices didn't carry. So he didn't hear the front door open, the heels click over tile and muffle on carpet. He didn't know Sydney was home until she opened the door to the bedroom and found him lying on his back, a cigarette propped in his mouth.

"How many times have I told you about smoking in bed?" She shut the door behind her, gracefully, like a dance move. "It causes house fires."

"Sydney, baby, my love—"

She saw the overflowing ashtray. "I emptied that out last week. Shit, how many of those things have you smoked?"

"Two packs, but I already had one started when you left."

"Shit, Irv—those things'll kill you before the fire can."

"There ain't gonna be a fire—" He stubbed the cigarette out. Smiled at her. "Sydney. Sydney, you're back!"

"Uh-huh," she said. "Yeah? Why not? You're everything to me. I can go out and wear some hot outfit and speak in my accent and get hit on twenty times—"

"Twenty?"

"It's not any fun without you." She climbed onto the bed, her knees denting the mattress, jostling him like he was a boat on the ocean. "I'm sorry I yelled, baby. I know you're just trying to do right by Rosalyn. You've over her. You are over her. Right?"

She held her hand stiffly by her side, like she did when she wanted him to take it. He took it. "Yeah, baby. We're done. I can't think what I ever saw in her." He saw the quirk in her brow that told him that bullshit was hitting the little red zone on the dial. "I mean, I know what I saw in her, but I can't believe I didn't see more of it in you."

Sydney crumpled, landing on his stomach, resting her head on his paunch like a father-to-be listening for the baby. "Irv, you've got less shit in you than any man I've ever met, but you're still full of it. But it is good shit. And I am sorry I made you worry."

"What, me worry?" He grinned. "I was just in a smoking mood. I get in those. Happens every seven years, like a clock. Bada-_bing, _I've gotta smoke everything in the house."

"Yeah, this place smells like a coal mine. You need to cut back."

"It cools me down, baby. I'm a single father, I've got two pesky kids to handle."

"Two—oh. _Funny._" She patted his love handles. "No lighting up until the weekend. We're gonna be spending more on tobacco than gas, you don't quit. You wanna relax, you let your wife handle that. That's what we're here for."

"We?"

Another hand at his ribs, this time a little harder. "Wives. Idiot. In general. But with you, just me. Just me, Irv." She kissed the fabric stretched tight over his belly. "Did she ever do this for you, baby? You can't tell me some bratty housewife from Long Island did this…"

Irving started to breathe hard as Sydney's head slid down his body. He was starting to wish he had his heart pills on him.

* * *

Rosalyn thought she finally had it all figured out. Past lives. Just like her psychic had warned her about. Clearly, back when Irving had been a Viking chieftain, she'd been his shield-maiden, but they hadn't found each other when Irving was a gunfighter in the Old West, so he'd shacked up with a saloon girl who'd been reincarnated as Sydney. Simple as that. Who could even tell how many times they'd swapped him in all their cycles? But this time really blew, because she'd seen Irving first, _married him _first, and Sydney still got him. Total bullshit. Bad karma. She wouldn't be surprised if Sydney ended up a flea in the next life.

She wondered if Sydney was still out. Probably. Probably staying out all night. Maybe even still seeing that curly-haired IRS agent Risakyb'd seen her with. Oh yeah, she'd seen how those two looked at each other. And say what you would about Rosalyn—you couldn't say that much, though, she did have depression and anxiety and she wasn't even sure that her shrink had diagnosed all of her disorders, she might have more, society barely cared about the mentally ill, that was just her cross to bear.

But say what you would about Rosalyn, _she _was always home for Irving when he needed her. She was there 24/7. She didn't take vacations or lunch breaks like it was some job flipping burgers. No. She was _there _for her man. And, because she wasn't the type to hold a grudge unless someone was really asking for it, she would go check in on Irving, even though he'd left her for some red-headed slut. That was just how big her heart was. She would always place his needs before her own.

Besides, she couldn't find a drink anywhere and how was she supposed to sleep sober? What was this, the Middle Ages?

Padding through the house on her bare feet, and finding the tile floor way too fucking cold, she came to Irving's bedroom. Tried the door. It was locked. Yeah, that was safe. What if there was a fire, little Danny ran for help from his adopted parents, and then the door's locked? What was he even doing in there, anyway, he needed the door locked? Rosalyn got down on her knees and looked through the keyhole.

Then she watched as Sydney Prosser, that whore, sucked her ex-husband's cock.

It was a good-sized cock. Rosalyn had never had any complaints about it. And Sydney was doing a good job with it—cheeks puffed out, lips stretched thin, a shimmer of spittle running from the corner of her mouth. But the evident skill and passion of their… their _blowjob _made Rosalyn sick to her fucking stomach.

She just couldn't believe she was watching Sydney's head bobbing up and down on her ex-husband, his thick thigh muscles flexing rhythmically. Where were his—there they were. His fat balls were squeezed under Sydney's chin as she took him deep down her throat.

Rosalyn was not a sensual woman. She knew a wife's duty was to provide certain outlets for her husband, and as long as those outlets were filled the marriage was in great shape, but past the obligation and, honestly, the enjoyment she got out of having Irving so completely in her thrall, she'd always considered sex somewhat dirty. A little sinful.

Her first husband had come from a wealthy family; she should've been set for life, only his parents hadn't approved and though they'd tolerated the marriage, they'd cut him off when Danny was conceived. And Rosalyn had tried, she'd tried really, really hard to get her stepparents to like her. See that she wasn't just some floozy. She had a picture in her head, vivid as the silver screen, of them finally inviting her to their house. And when they did, her stepmother would look her in the eye and see she was a _good girl, _not some cheap slut who'd put the moves on her son. And she would see that all over Rosalyn because _that _was how she lived.

And even after he'd died and she'd taken up with Irving, she'd tried to be decent. Sex only once a week, maybe more often, but it didn't count if she was drunk. She knew that frustrated Irving. Probably drove him to Sydney. But she knew he understood her little quirks—only having sex at night, only with the lights out, only under the covers, and always, _always _in the missionary position. Deep down, he didn't _want _some tawdry seductress for a wife. _That _would make him lose all respect for her, and that was far more harmful to a marriage than withholding sex until he really, truly needed it.

"Oh-ho-ho, _yeah_," Irving moaned, either hand cupped in Sydney's curly hair. "That is how you use a fucking your tongue! _Yes! _Oh, baby, you are the _absolute!"_

Well, she shouldn't have expected any better from Irving. Leave it to some _man _not to know a good thing when he had it and want some cheap skank who would allow herself to be degraded, let both of them be degraded, really, doing something as filthy as _sucking _on a man's _penis. _

Sydney gagged on another few inches of his member, but took it in her throat. Rosalyn was goggle-eyed. How was she _doing _that? Could she eat whole carrots in one gulp too? This was the kind of thing Rosalyn had read about—deep-throating. Only it was only supposed to be in the movies, a special effect, and here was Sydney doing it with a real life prick! And enjoying it, too! Having her mouth stretched out like a fucking balloon! Rosalyn could _tell _she was enjoying it, moaning as loud as she was.

Not that Rosalyn ever would do something as filthy as that, but if she did, she thought she could maybe take half of Irving's cock in her mouth. But Sydney had three-quarters lost between her lips, and there was Irving breathing like a bellows, asking her to take even more!

God, her cunt was hot. Why was it so fucking hot? She knew. With Sydney such a whore and Irving such a pushover, she'd probably caught a disease between the two of them.

Irving took off his near-omnipresent shades and shook his head to clear himself of some of the sweat on his forehead and in his hair. He was staring down at Sydney like it was some kind of miracle, putting a penis into your mouth. "Take the whole thing. Yeah, babe—come on. You can do it," he panted. If Rosalyn were just listening in, she wouldn't know if he was in pain or ecstasy.

Sydney slurped her way off him with a truly disgusting sound, gave Irving a smile that made Rosalyn want to vomit, then rolled onto her back. Irving rolled too, kneeling with his legs on either side of Sydney's throat. Sydney opened her mouth cheekily, daring him with her eyes. Rosalyn watched in total disbelief as Irving put his thing at her lips, tensed his legs, and shoved forward to bury all of his cock in her mouth.

As much a bitch as Sydney was, Rosalyn felt sorry for her as she choked and stiffened. Irving was clutching his heart, making strangled sounds while Sydney's eyes bulged and beads of sweat coursed over her wrinkled brow. Her nostrils flared like a bull's. Rosalyn thought she was choking to death on that cock lodged in her throat, just like had happened to that teenager in Florida she'd read about. But Irving just flexed his ass cheeks, fucking his way down Sydney's throat.

Rosalyn was just about to scream for them to stop—as pissed off as Irving made her, she didn't want him going down for a murder charge—when Irving let out a sigh and pulled out slowly. It seemed to take weeks, but he kept going until he was all out but his cockhead. Rosalyn could see Sydney sucking at it, her tongue lashing just under the knob, blowing it with the gusto of a virtuoso. She liked it. Sydney really did like sucking cock.

Well… how the fuck was Rosalyn supposed to compete with that?

Even Sydney didn't seem to know how good she was. Irving came before she was ready, bursting just as she licked his tip. He shot onto her lips, over her shoulder to the bedspread, even a splash on her collarbone before she got his prick clamped between her lips and drank him down smoothly as soda through a straw. Irving groaned and gave Sydney a few quick thrusts before he was done. After he pulled out, Sydney licked her chin clean. Rosalyn held a hand to her heart. _Awful. _

Finally giving her jaw a rest, Sydney crawled beside Irving for a laydown. He submitted meekly to her clutching his cock as she lightly kissed at his chest.

Rosalyn went back to her room. She almost wished she hadn't broken things off with Pete. She could've used a man right about then.


	4. Swing It Part 4

Irving was feeling pretty good on his way to work. Okay, so Rosalyn was in trouble. He was fine. The kid was fine. Sydney was fine. It wasn't like with DiMaso, when there'd been trouble coming in on all fronts. This was just one problem. He'd handle it before anything else came along and that would be that.

Then he turned the corner to his Laundromat, meaning to buy the boys lunch, and saw Pete Muscane and six goombas standing in front of the shop. He turned around to run, but got more turned around than he intended, and they jumped him before he could take off. "Oh no," he said. He was too scared to find a profanity to spew. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…"

A white van pulled up and they ganged him through the side-door, sealing it shut behind them like a tomb. The van took off. Its lurching acceleration was in concert with the drop in Irving's stomach. "I'm being kidnapped!" he shouted.

"Shut up," Pete growled, fingers twitching like he could feel himself slapping the other man.

"I'm being kidnapped," Irving said quieter, almost to himself. "I'm being kidnapped, I'm being kidnapped-" He kept up the litany as Pete cracked his knuckles.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Me and Rosalyn, we had a good thing goin'. All of us had a good thing. You had your girl, I had mine, we split the kid. Good thing. Why'd you have to come waltzing back into our lives—"

"I'm being kidnapped!" Irving repeated shrilly.

"You should've stayed away, Irving. You really should have just stayed away."

Irving held up his hands in repeated, frantic 'just let me explain' gestures, his eyes begging for time. Pete kneaded his right fist in his open palm, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm being kidnapped," Irving said. Then, clutching his chest, quieter: "I'm being kidnapped…"

He slumped over, head twice hitting the floor like a basketball being dribbled.

"I think he's having a heart attack, boss," someone said.

"I thought we were only gonna rough him up."

"A heart attack's pretty rough."

Pete coughed a little. He'd never seen anyone dying before. "Maybe we oughta—let's go to the hospital? Hey, let's go to the hospital!"

* * *

When Irving woke up, Rosalyn was already talking. "It was the chamomile tea. Thank God for me, Irv; that chamomile tea I told you to drink, it must've saved your life. All those antioxidants. You ask the doctor when he comes in. If you'd had any more oxidants in you, you wouldn't be standing here today."

Irving shuffled in his hospital bed. "I'm lying down."

"Don't correct me, Irving. I came here to comfort you, but I will not put up with male correctionalism. Drink this." She handed him a cup of water.

He drank it greedily, looked around for a doctor. "I'm… I'm okay?"

Her smile—when she smiled—could be dazzling. "Yeah, baby. You're going to be just fine. The doctors say it was only a small heart attack. You were only out for so long because you're—so—lazy." She punctuated the comment poking playfully at his arm.

He smiled in a bit of relief, but he still felt like he had in the van. Like he was stammering, trying to get something out while it clung tight to his vocal cords. "I almost died."

"I know, baby."

They were alone in the tiny room. Him, her, and all their history, all the fuck-ups. The door was shut. He started to cry.

"I almost died…"

She moved to the bed beside him, took his head in his arm, and gently petted his hair. Her fingers slipped under his toupee so he could feel them on the bare skin of his scalp. That made him cry harder for some reason.

"I could've died… I almost died…"

Sydney came in a few minutes later. It'd taken some time for the hospital to reach her and for her to get through crosstown traffic. When she came in to see Irving and Rosalyn together, she did not feel pain or jealousy. She was simply happy that Irving hadn't been alone.

Kneeling by the other side of the bed, she took Irving's hand.

* * *

_So now I had a bum ticker. Ever seen one of those edited-for-TV movies where they cut out all the good stuff? Imagine someone doing that for my life. No tobacco. No red meat. No salt. Vegetables. Exercise. JOGGING. And I still had Roselyn to deal with. I was fighting a war on two fronts, and the center could not hold._

_Oh, and no sex. Which might've been for the best. If I did cheat with Rosalyn, I might as well drop dead on the spot, because it would be better than whatever Sydney had in store for me._

When they got back from the hospital, Rosalyn and Sydney had to steer Irving, like a zombie, from the car to his bedroom. He was so zonked out on meds that he laid down already asleep. Rosalyn had to lift his legs while Sydney pulled the sheets out from under him. They both pulled the bedsheet up to his chin.

Sydney hurried out of the room. Rosalyn stayed by his side, wanting to prove something, but she got bored pretty quickly. She went out into the kitchen, where Sydney was cleaning out the fridge of all the food the doctors had told Irving to avoid.

She was housewife enough to put some in a bag for charity, but con artist enough to fix the rest in the crockpot for some kind of stew. Or maybe it was the other way around. Rosalyn always thought of charity as a con. You gave stuff away and it was supposed to make you feel better about yourself, but did it ever really? If it did, why did people have to keep giving stuff away?

"So…" Rosalyn said, thinking Sydney would pick up the slack of the conversation. But Sydney just filled a bowl with the soup and passed it to her. Rosalyn took it, didn't eat. "I think it's really great what you're trying to do for Irv. Waiting on him and stuff. That's good."

"Thanks." Sydney shrugged. "It's what any wife would do."

Rosalyn bit her lip, thought for a moment, then piped up like they hadn't exchanged words at all. "I'll explain it to Danny."

"He already knows."

"No, the other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You leaving." Rosalyn ran a hand through her hair. "I mean, you'll probably want to be leaving now. You've been great and all, but—"

"Why would I leave?" Sydney asked.

"I don't know—I'm his wife. I should take care of him. It's my responsibility."

Sydney emitted sounds of higher and higher incredulity with each sentence Rosalyn spoke, like a piano being tuned. For the first time, she realized Rosalyn was wearing one of her Gunne Sax dresses.

"I'm just saying," Rosalyn continued, "that I don't think you should be trying this little domestic _experiment _when Irving's life is on the line! I know how to take care of him, I know this house, I know this family—" She put her hand to her heart. "If you want what's best for Irving, you should just walk away and let me handle this."

"You? You couldn't take care of a seven-year-old boy, how are you gonna take care of Irv?"

Then Rosalyn realized that Sydney was wearing a pair of her hot pants _and _her two-way blouse. "I've been his wife for years. You've only been moved in for maybe a month!"

"I've been more of a wife to him in a month than you have in years! We both know he wouldn't have even had a heart attack if it weren't for _you _and your _baggage _and your _mobster ex-boyfriend!"_

"Me?" Rosalyn was so offended, she squeaked. "It's all my fault? If there was anyone who was putting stress on his heart, it was you! With all your—deviant sex kinks!"

Sydney's eyes opened further than a set of umbrellas. "_What?"_

"I saw you and Irving the other night, I know what you two get up to! You're just a hot-bottomed little whore and you use him for some sick sexual glee and I bet it's having to fuck you every night that put him in the hospital! I bet cash money!"

Sydney crossed her arms. "You're a psychopath."

"Yeah, I don't know what'd be worse, if you do all your whoring with him or if you spread it around the neighborhood. I bet it's the second one, but you'll still such a slut you gave him a cardiac trying to keep up! I know girls like you!" Rosalyn counted off on her fingers. "I bet you fuck the neighborhood boys and the married men, maybe even the women, you seemed to really like it when I kissed you that time!"

"_You _kissed _me._"

Her plump arms crossed, Rosalyn stared at Sydney the way a mother would stare at an untrustworthy teenager. "I bet you fuck anything with a cock hung in front. Thank Christ we don't have a dog, Sydney. God knows what kind of VDs a dog could get from a person."

"I don't have to listen to this—"

"You're a whore! You're such a whore you had to get cock from other women's husbands! You had to get it from me! You're so goddamned whore-happy that you can't even live without fucking around!"

"Well he ended up with me, so he must prefer a whore to _you!"_ Sydney replied in a huff, her breasts shaking with the heated gobs of breath she took.

Head down, Rosalyn sulked. She was tired of looking Sydney in the eye. "You think you're special? You really think you're special. I was special too. It's always great when it starts, but you're just this year's model of me. Sooner or later he's gonna get bored of you and he's gonna lose you just like he lost me!"

Sydney bore down on her, coming so close Rosalyn had to face her. "So I'm you, huh?"

"You wish you could be," Rosalyn spat in her face. "I held onto him for so damn long. He's only with you because I let him go."

"If I'm you, then you should recognize _this."_

Sydney grabbed Rosalyn in a kiss that, with her already overheated, could've set her on fire. And as much rage and pain were behind the kiss, Rosalyn could only think of how much softer Sydney's mouth was than Pete's, than Irving's. She didn't want to be kissed—why would she?—but that whore mouth of Sydney's was really soft, really warm, really _new. _Rosalyn froze, just taking in the novelty. And she stayed frozen.

But as soft as her mouth was, the woman was _strong. _She took Rosalyn by the shoulders and backed her into the refrigerator, still kissing her. "If you saw me sucking his prick," Sydney said between tastes of Rosalyn's tongue, "then this cunt of yours must've been wet ever since."

Rosalyn felt nothing but Sydney's tongue, electric and stimulating, until a warm hand slid up her dress. More electricity; inside her panties now. Rosalyn felt wired up like Christmas lights. Those fingers knew exactly where to touch and how. Rosalyn gasped away Sydney's tongue in recognition of their expertise.

"Yeah, that's right," Sydney said against her mouth. "I went to a British boarding school. I know how to fuck women."

Her fingers twisted, and that was more than enough to overcome the shock of tasting her own medicine for Rosalyn. She could even put up with those big heifer tits pressed up against her own if it meant keeping those beautiful fingers in her cunt. Sydney kissed her again, and for the first time in her life, Rosalyn submitted meekly.

Or she would've, if Sydney had just kept kissing her and touching her, not taken Rosalyn's hand and led it down her shorts, where Sydney was even softer and wetter and more thrilling than her mouth. Realizing what she was touching—seeing Sydney quake and tremble in the beginnings of release—Rosalyn pulled her hand back, her mouth away.

"Get the fuck off me! Fucking queer! Fucking dyke bitch!" Rosalyn wiped her own lipstick off her mouth. "I'm telling Irving."

"Tell him!" Sydney shot back.

"I will!" Rosalyn stomped for the bedroom, nearly going down as she tried to balance on her suddenly towering heels. "I'll tell him what a fucking rugmuncher you are! No one wants a wife who's a rugmuncher!"

"Then why'd he marry _you_?" Sydney demanded, following so closely that her words hit the back of Rosalyn's neck, dripping hot oil on her already overwarm body. "You loved every finger I put in there! You couldn't get enough of it! You must be a _real _lezbo to get off so hard on another woman! I bet that's why you can't keep a man. Bet that's why you're such a frigid bitch. You don't want cock, you want a nice wet cooch!"

Rosalyn barged into Irving's room, finding him snoring like a broken vacuum cleaner. She pounded on the mattress with both fists, waking him up. His head jerked up to see the two women standing over him, both fuming with rage, Sydney's hands pressed into fists, Rosalyn's nails ready to claw her rival's eyes out.

"What the—what's goin'—who's dead?" he asked woozily.

Rosalyn pointed desperately at Sydney. "You wanna know who you're raising our kid with? You wanna know who you're married to? She's a lesbian, Irv! You married a big, cuntlapping lesbian slut and she just assaulted me! She tried to make me a lezbo!"

Sydney gave Rosalyn a hard shove. "She kissed me first, I was just kissing her back! She was the one who enjoyed it! She let me _finger her_, Irving, _me._"

"She seduced me!" Rosalyn protested, raising her leg to give Sydney a kick but then wobbling unsteadily on her one remaining heel. "Everyone knows that women know how to please women better than men—"

"Ha!" Sydney cried. "Is that not something a lesbian would say? _Is that not something a lesbian would say?"_

"Clearly not, because I said it! I'm not gay, I have a kid! You're gay!"

"You kissed me first!"

"I didn't fucking finger you!"

"You were about to!"

"When I came to my senses and remembered I was married!"

"He divorced you, you stupid bitch, and don't even pretend that you wussing out had anything to do with Irving!"

"I love him!" Rosalyn ran to Irving, bypassing Sydney like a quarterback making a run into the end zone, grabbing Irving by the face with both hands and kissing him as many times as she possibly could before Sydney pulled her away. "See how in love we are, Sydney? It must sicken you, seeing me doing this with a man. Why don't you just get out of here, go to some lavender bar, and kiss all the girls you want?"

Sydney struggled, trying to keep Rosalyn in her grip when the other woman clearly wanted to continue her charm offensive against Irving. "I don't know any lavender bars! Maybe you could give me directions?" Rosalyn bit her. "Fucking bitch!"

Sydney threw Rosalyn down on the bed, across Irving's legs. She slapped the other woman silly and threw her dress up to her tits. Rosalyn's panties she jerked down her legs. "Look, Irv. Look how wet she is. Think that's from kissing you?"

"It is!" Rosalyn protested. "It's all for him, I was even thinking of him while you were fingering me!"

"Bullshit!" Sydney screamed. She climbed atop Rosalyn. "I'm gonna fuck you, you bitch! I'm gonna fuck you until you admit what a lesbian you are!"

And she fell on Rosalyn, kissing her again, touching her again—hearing her moan again.

"Ladies?" Irving murmured. "You're kinda crushing me here…?"

Both women ignored him, despite Sydney speaking to him as she quickly found Rosalyn's clitoris, the perfect size to tickle, stroke, pinch. "Look at how big her clit is, Irv. Have you ever seen a clit that big on a straight woman?"

Below Sydney, Rosalyn's mask had slipped. Her aggressively judgmental scowl, her blazingly assertive eyes, her scrunched-up boxer's nose—they'd become flushed cheeks, flaring nostrils, a slack mouth with a pleasure-curled tongue inside. She was as beautiful as ever, but with her eyes glazed over with lust, she was even more exciting to behold. Irving felt himself harden, seeing that look in her eyes. Maybe not being able to feel his legs wasn't such a bad thing.

Both women were quickly forgetting their Sapphic concerns. Sydney was becoming absorbed in Rosalyn's pending orgasm, as was Rosalyn, obviously enough. It no longer mattered to either woman that Irving was watching, that a woman was fingering her or being fingered by her. All the three of them wanted was to experience, even secondhand, the orgasm Rosalyn was so clearly gearing up for.

"Are you going to come?" Sydney asked eagerly, her fingers raking Rosalyn hard like she meant for the blonde's big tits to jiggle like they were. "Are you going to come from having a woman fingering your cunt like the big fat lezbo you are?"

"If I'm going to come—" Rosalyn panted, "it's only because Irving's here and I'm thinking of how much better he would fuck me if you hadn't given him a fucking heart attack so he can't fucking fuck me **you fucking—**"

Irving watched Rosalyn trail off into an orgasm, the intermission of the awesome spectacle before him. The big blonde was slapped across his legs, her neatly-coiffed hair worked into a jungle by sweat and motion, while Sydney mounted her like a lion atop a gazelle, her perky breasts pushing little round nipples through her blouse.

"You're real good at that," Rosalyn moaned dreamily before blinking away her orgasm. "I mean—you're really good at that for a straight woman! Bet you've done it before plenty of times! I bet you fuck a girl behind Irving's back every day just so you have something to think about when you have to touch his disgusting, hideous cock!"

"Hey now—" Irving objected.

"Don't look at me!" Rosalyn yelped. "I love your cock, baby, she's the fucking lesbian, _she hates cock!_"

"She's the one who came! Does she ever come with you, Irv?"

Irving looked abashed. "Well, I give it the ol' college try, but sometimes—"

"She's thinking about other women," Sydney proposed snidely. "_That's _why."

"That doesn't fucking count!" Rosalyn's shriek could be heard throughout the house; fortunately, Danny had been sent next door for a sleepover so he wouldn't be frightened by his father's condition. "She was fingering me, right? So I come from being fingered, so what, everyone does? Especially when they're huge-man-dyke-hands like she has! If Irving fingered me, I'd come then too!"

"She's gotta point there," Irving said consideringly. He wilted under Sydney's turning gaze. "Not that you have masculine hands, she's wrong there, but all I'm saying is, I know some lesbians, they use dildos—big things shaped like dongs, right? That doesn't mean they like dongs, it's just the shape and the motion, right? You could bring in a little green man, he could finger her, she'd come… doesn't mean she's gotta thing for aliens."

"She's a lesbian!" Sydney protested. "She kissed me! What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

Irving rubbed his beard. He still wasn't quite sure what the hell was going on, why he'd just seen a woman give another woman an orgasm practically on his lap, or if he really had died and gone to Heaven (if he had, he didn't think Rosalyn would be there—maybe Christie Brinkley, not a guy's _ex-wife, _c'mon). But he was very clear on a certain point: he did not want the world's strangest invitation to a threesome to end.

"I don't know—maybe you could lick her pussy a bit. I think a woman's tongue is a lot different from a man's. At least, it was when I kissed that guy."

"Oh, did she take you to a gay club?" Rosalyn asked.

"It was for a con, I didn't enjoy it, his mustache itched—"

"Tell me about it," Rosalyn and Sydney said simultaneously.

"I'm just saying—" Irving insisted, "if she were a lesbian, she'd get off on having her kitty licked. That's for certain."

Sydney's brow knotted with determination. "You think I won't eat her out to prove she's a dyke? She's gonna come so hard, Irving, you'll see. I bet she squirts. I bet she squirts just from having my tongue in her dirty cunt."

"You couldn't make me squirt if you had Burt Reynolds' mustache!" Rosalyn challenged.

Sydney sunk to her knees before her. Her clawed fingers ripped at Rosalyn's—her—dress. It hung in tatters around her nude body when she was done. Rosalyn's muted protests became impatient pleas as Sydney ran her tongue daringly up Rosalyn's leg. Sydney was quick to oblige her, reaching the blonde wisps that clad Rosalyn's pussy and thrusting her tongue through them. Rosalyn whimpered in frustrated outrage, even as her legs parted and her hips thrust forward to capture that probing tongue inside her.

"Go ahead, Sydney!" Rosalyn taunted. "Lick it! Suck it! Make me come!"

Her head fell back to the mattress as Sydney, for the first time in her life, listened to Rosalyn Rosenfeld. Rosalyn's clit was as big as ever and for Sydney, it was almost too easy to lick it. Suck it. Make Rosalyn come.

Rosalyn grasped Sydney's head like it held the secrets of the universe, holding it still for her to work her twat against and claim her own pleasure. "Yes! Lick it! Suck it!" she repeated, far less challengingly. "Make me commmmm…" She moaned the word into inarticulateness, humping frantically against the face of her arch-rival as Sydney brought her to completion.

When Sydney rose, it was to display a smile dripping with juices. She rubbed it in by kissing Rosalyn; letting her taste her own cunt. And Rosalyn liked the taste, judging by how her tongue met Sydney's…

Irving arched a knee. It was the only way to hide the tent his erection had made of the bedspread. "That… seemed somewhat conclusive," he ventured.

Rosalyn's eyes flashed with hatred once more. She's the dyke!" Digging her fingers into Sydney's skin hard enough to draw blood, she flipped their positions. Fell on Rosalyn with kisses that seemed designed to suck her soul up her throat. "You hear how bad she wanted to eat me out?" Rosalyn screamed when she wasn't kissing Sydney. "Bet she's been planning it since we first met. I bet it's written all over her dream journal!"

"—don't have a dream journal," Sydney panted as she humped against Rosalyn's well-situated leg.

"Also a good point," Irving said. "We should—"

Sydney cut him off. "You think I won't get my pussy licked by a woman?" she asked. She pulled down her shorts, panties and all, like they were on fire. "I bet you love the taste of pussy, Rosalyn. It's hot and tangy and so sweet you can't fucking quit it."

She clambered over Rosalyn's body to sit on her face, but the blonde fought back, slapping Sydney across the face like she meant to knock her head off. Sydney landed on the foot of the bed and Rosalyn dove atop her. Sydney was seeing stars exploding as well as Rosalyn's lust-twisted face up close and personal.

"I'll show you who's a lesbian. I'll show you who's a fucking lesbian!" Rosalyn cried, and ripped open her own blouse to get to the big brown nipples at the end of Sydney's jutting tits.

She could taste the sweat right off, but that went away soon after, leaving only the taste of the nipple. A taste that was uniquely Sydney. Uniquely female. And she reached down between Sydney's legs and felt a wet pussy, a clit as big as hers on that fucking hypocrite. She slapped them both, pinched them both, and so what if it caused Sydney more pleasure than pain? The woman was a freak. She'd get off on anything.

It felt good to have Sydney shaking and quivering as easily as she would switch on one of Danny's toys. Finally, someone could see how powerful she was. With a curl of her fingers another woman's hips surged. With a roll of her tongue another woman's voice sounded in helpless delight. And when she did it all at once…

"Goddamn fucking lesbian!" Sydney exploded, her eyes flooding with embarrassed tears as she came. It literally gushed out of her, her juices stinging her thighs and slapping the mattress under her thighs, the relief as heavy as the humiliation.

"Look at this fucking dyke!" Rosalyn cried out gleefully, as she clapped her hand to Sydney's crotch and rubbed the hot liquid of her orgasm into Sydney's groin. "If she came any harder, she'd knock me up again!"

That said, Rosalyn dropped down and stabbed her tongue into Sydney's cunt like she was trying to plug a leak. Sydney gasped out haltering, high-pitched noises, reaching to Irving for support. She thought she was coming again, or maybe she was still coming. It was hard to tell. All she could do was aid her body in pushing the wet orgasm out of her cunt.

She could no longer see her pleasure flowing, just Rosalyn's wicked face sitting on her cunt. And she had to say something to that smug look on the bitch's face. "Eat my cunt, you cunt!" she roared. "You eat me when I come for you, got it!?" She shoved Rosalyn deeper between her legs, saw her juices flow over that stupid face, and felt that beautiful tongue helping to empty her overflowing cunt.

After patting the sheets a moment, she found Irving's leg and squeezed it. But no sooner had she gotten a grip then he pried her hand away and brought it to his cock. He was extremely erect, and when her hand wrapped around him, Irving only seemed to get more so. His manhood strained to extend itself beyond the limits biology had placed on it.

"Is this straight enough for you, bitch?" she demanded of Rosalyn. Her hand blurred. "I'm jacking my husband off while you make me cuh-cuh—" She groaned, a shudder beginning at the base of her spine and spreading like a disease, becoming a moan of delight that Rosalyn could feel rattle her teeth. Sydney's latest climax traveled her sex and was gulped down Rosalyn's throat. "—come," Sydney finished groggily.

She went limp, her hand unmoving but clinging to Irving's cock. Her afterglow felt like a sunburst in her pussy, warming her from the inside-out. The last drops of her orgasm dripped to a saturated mattress.

Sydney watched drowsily as Rosalyn's hand encircled her own, joining together on Irving's phallus, and as one, they gave it the last few jerks it so desperately needed. Irving groaned, grunted, gurgled, gasped, all at once, as his cock blew thick white ropes over their conjoined hands as well as his own legs and belly.

For once, Rosalyn ignored the sticky mess. Hugging Sydney to herself, she muscled the redhead up next to Irving. She even played with Sydney's cunt a little more, as softly as she'd hold a baby animal. Sydney didn't know what it was between them, but Rosalyn suddenly seemed to care about her at least well enough to bring her down, sweetly, sisterly, from the sudden towering height she had reached. Shivers, warm not cold, had her quaking in Rosalyn's arms, and it was only when Irving embraced her as well that her overworked clit finally felt soothed.

Much like her husband, Sydney was not quite sure where she was, but she was aware of milking the dregs of Irving's climax from him and feeling wonderfully relieved, everywhere, about everything.

"Okay," Rosalyn said, seemingly full all of a sudden with heartfelt sincerity. "I might be a lesbian."

"Me too," Sydney added.

"Me three," Irving said.

"You can't be a lesbian," Rosalyn yawned. "You have a heart condition. You're not supposed to have sex for two weeks. That probably took a year off your life."

"It'd be worth it," Irving mused. "And what do I care what some quack has to say about _my _heart? It's not like any of those whitecoats kept me from having a heart attack in the first place, is it? And now they know how to keep me from having another and it's not to have any threesomes with my two wives? Fucking disgrace!"

"That gives me an idea!" Sydney said, wide awake all of a sudden.

Which woke Rosalyn right up. "I'll do it. Anything. Anything you want. As long as you make me come like you did. I lied about the butt stuff, I really liked it, Pete was just being an asshole about it. _I am up for butt stuff."_

"Not _that,_" Sydney said quickly. "I was thinking that, since Irving is out of commission, you and I could attend to each other's… needs."

Rosalyn rolled her hands in exasperation. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking! So let's get started!"

"I could buy a video recorder," Irving said. "Have you seen those things? They're amazing."

"Oh, you can watch," Sydney said, turning to Irving. "So long as you follow the doctors' orders. Eat healthy, long walks twice a day, no smoking, no drinking—"

"Babe, babe, c'mon—"

Rosalyn latched onto the idea like a barracuda. "Irving, I hate the thought of cheating on you. I _hate it. _But Sydney's right, this is for your own good. We'll let you watch us fuck—"

"Which we're only doing to get you healthy," Sydney added in a sop to Rosalyn's myriad neuroses.

"Yes. We'll put on dirty, degrading, disgusting shows of lust and homosexuality," Rosalyn tried to hide a shudder of excitement, "but only to motivate you to lose weight."

"And quit smoking," Sydney added.

"You need to quit smoking, babe."

Irving thought it over. "What about toys?"

"What about 'em?" Sydney fired back, as Rosalyn tried to conceal a sudden 'eep'.

Irving plucked at his fingers as he counted. "Beads, dildos, whips, vibrators, strap-ons, cuffs—I'm giving up red meat here. I think I'm entitled to a little bit more than a little sorority house business."

Rosalyn jumped in. "Lose five pounds by next month. Then we'll talk." She rolled away from them suddenly. "I'm not sleeping on the wet spot; not my fault Sydney had a water balloon stuffed up her cunt. I'll be in the guest bedroom. If I don't get my afternoon nap in, my sleep cycle's gonna be completely fucked."

Sydney watched her go, as adroitly as Irving did. Once the door shut behind her, she grabbed Irving by the lapels.

"You. Have got. To lose. Five. Pounds."


	5. That Seventies Swap Prologue

Prologue

1944

Raven was just getting used to living with Charles. It was like he had said; his parents barely cared enough to notice one child, let alone two. She was starting to think he would be true to his word. That she'd finally found a place to stay. She'd even told him about her problem.

She didn't know when she'd been born, how long she'd been alive, what her birthday was. One day she'd simply become what she was and she'd stayed the same way, never growing, never changing. Except when she changed herself, of course. One of the few things she remembered was that in her old home, all her siblings had gotten big and tall, teased her for still being a little blue girl, until she'd gotten so mad that she'd made herself an old woman just to spite them.

Charles was picking up on the thoughts of the most forward-thinking minds in evolutionary biology. With his parents being such pillars of academia, such minds were often brought into his orbit, and he guzzled down their knowledge like a thirsting nomad would come across an oasis. After James Dewey Watson had dinner with Mrs. Xavier—lusting after her all the while—Charles formed a theory.

"He's quite off-base with regards to eugenics, but I believe his subconscious mind has the right of it," Charles said, having quizzed it while Watson slept in his hotel. "You see, we age because of any number of sub—" Here, Charles used a word that Raven didn't understand, "processes. Like pages in a book, as our cells multiply, this number inside them progresses. In fact, we die because this number climbs too high—our cells become copies of copies and inevitably degrade. You don't have that problem. It's quite possible you're immortal."

"Yay," Raven said dryly.

"I've vastly simplified the process, of course, but perhaps I could transmit it into your brain at a later date." Charles assumed he'd be able to do that soon. Raven just nodded. "But your cells all change with your transformations—your body has lost its place in your cells' 'page numbers.' You can't go from page three to four because your body doesn't know it's on three."

"If I want to be an adult, I can _be _an adult."

"But don't you want to mature naturally? Alongside me?" Charles looked confused. "How else are we going to be at the same level of intellectual development?"

"I think that was off the table the minute you read Einstein's brain."

Charles could be stuffy for a child—he could transform into an old man faster than her. "For the past few months, I've been feeding people the image of you being—average." He said instead of normal. "But you have to age, otherwise people will notice. And it has to be a natural progression, not in fits and starts like your transformations. I suggest we find you a girl of a similar age—or a boy, if you like—and you model yourself on their appearance. Then hold that transformation. Let your body age naturally in its changed state."

"So you don't want me to transform?"

"I want you to limit the use of your powers—exercise self-restraint for your own good." Charles nodded to himself, liking the sound of that. "As your body becomes used to this 'second skin,' you'll be able to resume it quite easily—pick up where you left off, so to speak."

"Like a bookmark?"

Charles winced, wishing he'd thought of that. It was his own damn metaphor, after all. "Yes, precisely."

Raven frowned. Made herself blue. "It won't be what I really look like. _This _is what I really look like."

"Yes, and my father doesn't really have a full head of hair, male pattern baldness running as it does in my family, but we all have faces we must show the world and—facets of ourselves we keep hidden."

Raven tapped her forehead on her skull in imitation of him. "Easy to say when it's so easy to hide."

He leaned forward. "I have to concentrate with the greatest of will to avoid your thoughts stabbing in to me. All of us to our own crosses, Raven. We'll go into the city tomorrow. Find you someone to wear. I think every mind I've read would've appreciated that opportunity."

Raven thought it over, kicking off the ground so her swing went into the motion. To her side, Charles did the same, so they were both pendulums under the swing-set, him swinging high while she swung low.

"I wanna be blonde," Raven said.


	6. That Seventies Swap Part 1

**1979**

Ever since about six years back, mutants had been coming out of the woodwork. It'd been scary at first, knowing there were people who really did have claws and furs like the boogeyman, but after a while, Rosalyn decided they were just like the Negros or gays. A little funny, sure, but they wouldn't bother you if you didn't bother them. She already knew there were people who could bend spoons with their minds, talk to the dead, all kinds of stuff. Now there was someone who could control metal like a big junkyard magnet? Pah!

Besides, a mutant had saved the President. Health of Tricky Dick aside, how could you argue with that? So when Rosalyn heard there was a real-life mutant giving an exhibition of his superpower at the Dallas Center, she instantly made a date for her and Danny. Irving didn't want to go—he was sure it was all flim-flam, smoke and mirrors, like he'd said about Uri Gellar. Sydney agreed with him, the little suck-up, so they went to the Dallas Center alone.

It was a big community center stadium. Rosalyn had taken Danny there to see races and dog shows. Now the field was filled with a number of tarp-covered mysteries, being checked on by crew members as the show geared up. All around her and Danny, people were taking their seats, buying snacks. It was a pretty liberal crowd, which Rosalyn didn't take with—all those hippies and love-in sorts, thinking they were so high-minded for going to see a freakshow. She kept a firm hand on her wallet.

"Mommy, will the mutant be scary?" Danny asked.

Rosalyn patted him on the head. "No, honey. Mutants are just weird. Ever since I married your father, I've been used to weird. Now the Commies, them you've gotta worry about…"

The show started. First a man in a tweed suit came out to give a brief lecture on evolution, explaining for all the cheap seats what mutation was and how they were still people and yadda yadda, _get on with it. _After five endless minutes, he got done, and people must've felt the same way as Rosalyn, because they clapped. Then a guy in some funky union suit came out. He looked like a wrestler or something, but he explained to the microphone that he was Unus the Untouchable, and his mutant power was to project a forcefield that made him totally invincible.

The first tarp was pulled off. Underneath was a table filled with chair legs, baseball bats, crowbars, lead pipes. He asked for some help from the audience, big stout guys, and got a crowd of dock workers to come down. They all picked a weapon and took some tentative whacks at him, but their blows just bounced off his body like he was encased in Plexiglass. They really went at it then, for a good two minutes, but Unus just stood there with his arms folded like he couldn't even feel it.

"They're ringers," Danny said. "Unus planted them in the crowd, they aren't really hitting him, they're pulling their punches."

That boy had been spending way too much time with Irving.

The PA system crackled. "I sense some of you are unconvinced," Unus said. "Further demonstrations will show you!"

The next table had a buzzsaw and a blowtorch. Assistants with welder's masks took them to either side of Unus's head, but he just yawned. A Black &amp; Decker drill didn't work either. Neither did the handgun, or the rifle. When they brought out the flamethrower, Rosalyn sensed a pattern at work. It reminded her of something that had always bugged her about the King Kong movie, at the end, when the guy had tried to make a show out of Kong. Yeah, a big ape was impressive at all—but, what, you were supposed to stare at the same thing for two hours?

"You wanna go?" she asked Danny.

"Nah!" Danny was leaning forward in his seat, watching them trying and failing to put a dent in Unus like every spark was Star Wars.

"Well, I need to use the bathroom, so you just stay here and don't move, okay hon?"

"Yeah, Ma."

(This was how parenting worked in the seventies.)

Clutching her purse tightly, Rosalyn walked up the steps to the top of the stadium, where the bathrooms were. She thought she saw a few mutants in the crowd too, muttering disagreeably about selling out to 'the Man,' but with people's hair these days, who could tell? Finally she got to the bathroom; thanks to the low turn-out (no doubt due to people being a bunch of scaredy-cats about the M-word), there was no line. Thanking her good luck, Rosalyn flung herself through the door as if a line were going to form any moment.

She did her business, washed up, and checked her make-up in the mirror. Perfect, as always. Then she saw she had another reflection in the mirror beside hers. She looked over. She had another her as well.

There was a woman, standing right next to her, who looked just like her—blonde and cute and with a great rack. Rosalyn _stared. _It was her, every dimple, every inch, and she could think of only one thing to say: "You're _gorgeous!"_

"I know," said the other her. "You could stand to lose a few pounds, though."

"What? We're _identical!"_

"Keep telling yourself that." And then the other her was pivoting on her heel, doing some weird yoga thing that resulted in her foot leaping up and somehow kicking Rosalyn in the back of the neck. Everything went fuzzy.

Okay, maybe they weren't identical, because Rosalyn was just not that flexible, and God only knew she and Sydney had tried.

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor and the other her was taking off her clothes.

"Be gentle with me," Rosalyn moaned.

The other her gave her a look. Now Rosalyn knew what it was like to be Irving. "Don't make this weird."

* * *

Raven remembered visiting the city with Charles. Remembered seeing that angelic little blonde girl who everyone loved, everyone paid attention to, who got everything she wanted. How could Raven not want to be her? So she had. She'd always wondered what had happened to that little girl.

Well, she hadn't wanted to find out that badly, but she'd take it.

Raven checked 'her' ticket as she left the bathroom, memorizing the seat number before hurriedly tucking it away. Her new clothes were a bit loose on her—not a bad thing, really. Despite her reflexive sarcasm to the human, she looked good in a Marilyn Monroe kind of way. If she still had her powers, Raven would even try that look. But ever since she'd been hit by that ray, she'd been stuck in this skin—comfortable as it was, it wasn't _hers. _Hers was the magnificent blue dragon-scales that she could shed to be anyone in the world, not—a _coincidence._

Raven found the other hers seat-Rosalyn Rosenfeld, according to her wallet. There was a little boy there, clearly the woman's son. Christ, she hated kids. Why couldn't this woman be on a date? Men she could handle.

"Hey kiddo," she greeted the kid, "ready to go?"

"Yeah, they're just stabbing him now. It's kinda gotten old."

Raven nodded, directing a mental sneer at Unus. Race traitor. Dancing monkey. She could've been rich and famous selling out to humans too. If they paid people to imitate people's _voices, _then…

"Hey, let's play a game," she told the kid. "I bet you can't get us home with no help from Mommy."

"Yes I can!" he replied indignantly.

"Prove it."

* * *

Rosalyn came to on the toilet, dressed in clothes that were far too tight-fitting for a decent woman like herself. She got up, rubbing her head, and left the stall to see a man in the ladies' restroom.

"Raven," he said—a big blond soldier boy with Eagle Scout posture, dressed conservatively in stone washed jeans and a denim jacket, a Western floral shirt underneath. He had his hands held up placatingly. "I don't want to fight you. The Professor _wants _to give you your space. But we need to check out this ray you were hit with—we're trying to help you."

"The Professor? Who the fuck are you? Is that some rapist trucker lingo?"

The blond looked concerned. "I'm Alex, remember? We went to school together—we were in Cuba together…"

"I don't know anything about that! You've got me confused with somebody else! Now get the fuck away from or I'll—I'll shoot you! I'm in the NRA! My husband's Charlie Bronson's nephew!"

Again, his brow furrowed. It seemed like a familiar expression. "Okay, do you really have amnesia or is this you trying to be a character? You know you can't shift, right? You look just like you always do—except blonde, not blue."

Rosalyn made the snap decision that 'Alex' was only going to get crazier from here on out. She made a run for the door. "Help! Rape! Rape!" She tried to whistle, but only blew spittle. Her whistle was in her purse, which that bitch with the beautiful face had taken.

Alex made a grab for her, but she chopped his hand away, kicked him in the shin, and made the door only to see another man standing watch. This one was more of a nerd—a NASA-looking guy in a brown corduroy suit, with coke-bottle glasses and a shave that could've been finished off with sandpaper. He moved fast as a card shark when she came out the door. Grabbed her by the wrists and barreled her back into the bathroom, where Alex took aim at the door with… his fist.

"Raven, I am so sorry for this," the nerd said, "but we can't indulge your lone-wolf pathology when the larger issue of mutantkind is at stake. I know you'll take this personally, but maybe someday, you'll see I have only your best interests—"

"I'm not Raven! Get the hell off me! Fire! Fire!" That was supposed to get people to come running and not rape, right? Wait, what kind of stupid people would run _toward _a fire? "Rape fire!"

The nerd clapped his hand over her mouth. "The injection," he told Alex. "Hurry."

Rosalyn raised her knee between the nerd's legs; she did it at a very rapid speed.

He slumped against the wall as Alex was still prepping the syringe. Rosalyn broke for the door again and she would've made it this time, if a breeze hadn't blown the door open, knocked Rosalyn back, plucked the syringe from Alex, and deposited it in Rosalyn's backside.

Rosalyn had a quick glimpse of a platinum blond wearing goggles and an incredibly loud jacket before she passed out. The man caught her as well.

"I can understand wanting to talk to a chick like this as long as possible," Peter Maximoff said. "But you should've just let me stick her in-between blinks. We could've been home by now."

Hank angrily pulled her unconscious body from Peter's arms. "If you're going to be an X-Man, you have to learn to respect—"

"Gonna start the car now," Peter told Alex. "Have the air conditioning ready when you get down there. Maybe snacks too. Chop-chop, slowpokes."

"As long as we're revising the plan," Alex said, once they realized the gust from the door blowing open was him leaving, "I think you should've let me nuke him while he slept."

* * *

Danny led her home accurately enough, and from there it was just simple infiltration. Luckily, whoever else lived in the house was out. Raven was able to quickly find 'her' bedroom, and in another stroke of luck, Rosalyn Rosenfeld kept a diary. Raven scanned through it quickly, similarly documenting all the family photos she could find, any letters left lying around, was even able to watch a reel of home movies. Very useful. She came to the conclusion that Rosalyn had a nice, comfortable life. She'd be able to lie low there for a while.

She didn't credit the 'X-Men' with much intelligence. They'd waste a few days sweating Rosalyn, using kiddie gloves on her before figuring out it wasn't really Mystique. By then, Raven would've grabbed enough money to start a new life and taken a train far away, to someplace she could scrounge up the technology to block out Cerebro, like Erik had. From there, she could see about rejoining the Brotherhood. She still didn't know if she wanted to associate with Erik, even after all this time. Maybe Charles was right, and his brand of mutant rights did more harm than good…

Then Raven's skimming got interested. She checked the date on the diary entry—a few months ago. It was already a helluva Dear Abby column before then—Rosalyn's husband a con man whose partner in crime was a fake-British grafter he was sleeping with. Then, after the _FBI _got involved, she finally dumped the lummox and got together with, of all people, one of the mobsters she'd met during the FBI business.

Fine. Whatever. Gangsters needed love to, and Raven didn't think her double had an overabundance of good sense. Date a mobster. Yeah. Why not? Only then she broke it off with him, because he was cheating on her too. Poor bitch. So she moved back in with the ex-husband, who by now had married the not-Brit and moved in together, so that was all three of them under the same roof.

And Irving had a heart attack. So that was him, needing to diet and exercise and not do any strenuous activity, and his ex-wife Rosalyn, and Sydney, the woman who Rosalyn had described kissing for an entire entry, writing about how drunk she was and how Sydney had taken advantage of her by flirting with her so outrageously in her hazy state.

Raven turned the page, feeling a little proud of her erstwhile twin. You had to be a little proud of someone that interesting—especially when they'd messed up their life even more than you had.


	7. That Seventies Swap Part 2

**1979**

"You know, I think this whole incident might've been a blessing in disguise," Sydney said, serving the family—or whatever you wanted to call it—her latest experiment in brown rice.

Irving had thought Rosalyn was the only crackpot he had to worry about, but here he was—grinding his peanut butter through a machine, a working man having cabob for dessert after a dinner of udon noodles with cabbage. It was shameful. Unamerican.

"We can all eat better," Sydney said. "Healthier."

"Can't you eat healthier without me?" Rosalyn asked, picking up a spoonful of her brown rice and letting it fall back into the bowl. Like Irving, she had an aversion to food with 'brown' right there in the name. Didn't even like brownies. "You and Irving can have your whole wheat—"

"So much whole wheat…" Irving muttered.

"And I can take Danny out for some nice Chinese food." Rosalyn reached over and rustled Danny's hair.

Sydney gave her a certain look. "I thought we were going to be showing Irv our solidarity. We're all in this together, you know, but if you want to cut and run—and instill Danny with unhealthy eating habits…"

"I am full of solidarity!" Rosalyn insisted. "I just love my sweet Irvie, whether he's nice and plump or all thin. Like a wind instrument."

"Him being a wind instrument will help him live longer!" Sydney argued.

"I think it just seems longer," Irving mumbled.

"What's daddy mumbling?" Danny asked.

Irving suddenly found all eyes at the kitchen table directed at him.

"Do you _want _to have another heart attack?" Sydney asked.

Rosalyn was just as quick on the draw. "You know, this unprocessed food, they just pick it up off the ground…"

Irving threw his hands up, warding them both off. "Maybe, I don't know, once in a while you guys could get a nice meal without me. Like if I'm working late, you could have a treat, order in. That sound fair to you, Danny?"

"Yeah!"

Irving smiled to himself. _Oh yeah. Who's the grafter?_

"And that wouldn't bother you?" Sydney asked worriedly. "Us cheating on your diet?"

"I'm pretty sure we could eat caviar on his dime, so long as we did the Friday night thing," said Rosalyn.

The Thing was how they'd come to refer to their arrangement—not that they ever really talked about it when Danny was underfoot.

Sydney, of course, wasn't a lesbian, didn't _enjoy _the Friday night thing like some sort of man-hater. Sure, she came, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it. It was just the best way to motivate Irving, and as a good wife, she was willing to make that sacrifice. In the past two months, he'd lost twenty pounds and kept them off. He'd quit smoking, cut down on booze—it was getting so he could climb more than a few flights of stairs without skipping a breath. So if the price she paid for getting Irving healthy was to do those dirty, disgusting, homosexual things with Rosalyn…

Besides, Rosalyn liked it way more than her.

* * *

Irving had to admit, Rosalyn looked better than Olivia Newton-John in her spandex work-out clothes. His, on the other hand…

"What was wrong with my old track suit?" he asked her as he tried to keep up with Rosalyn's routine, shimmying around on the Twist 'N' Tone she'd bought from the store at a bargain of five dollars. It felt like he was using a hula-hoop without the hula.

"That ratty old thing you wore cuz you wanted to be Bruce Lee?" Rosalyn demanded. "Baby, look at your sauna suit. It's all scientific, aerodynamic, those people at NASA probably wear them. All your body heat is sealed in so you're sweating twice as much."

"I don't think that's a good thing," Irving said, wondering if his lightheadedness had more to do with that or, again, Rosalyn in Jane Fonda gear.

"Sweat is bad for you, Irv, everyone knows it. You gotta work it out of your system. You don't want a sweat build-up! Alright, stop." Rosalyn stepped off the Twist 'N' Tone. "Time for a jog."

There was nothing, of course, that Irving loved more than running around a perfectly good street (for cars) at seven in the AM, wearing a silver trashbag, so he could give his one wife and his other wife an excuse to sleep with each other. But hell, it was better than a divorce. Everyone knew that crap was ruining the American family.

* * *

"Hey, where are my girls?" Irving called, striding through the door to deliver his coat and hat to the hall tree, his briefcase onto the ground. He remembered before his heart attack, he came home just a lump, no energy to do more than watch the boob tube. He could only screw on weekends, that's how much energy he had. Now he felt like a new man and he owed it all to lesbian sex.

Sydney came out of the kitchen, scowling mock-seriously. "Shh, Danny's asleep." She gave him his smile as she kissed his cheek. "Welcome back."

Irving heard Rosalyn's rapid footsteps around the corner, before she slowed to turn it. Her face flattened with dismay, seeing Sydney had greeted him first. Nonetheless, she grabbed hold of Irving and kissed him passionately on the lips. "It's not the same without you, daddy."

"Well, as long as we're kissing…" Sydney nipped at Rosalyn's shoulder. "Why don't we move this party to the bedroom? Gotta reward our man for bringing home the bacon."

"She's been trying to fuck me all day," Rosalyn whined. "She's some kind of pervert, you know."

Sydney glowered at her, though she'd long since given up on Rosalyn ever admitting _she _was the one who got off on it. Hell, hadn't she been flouncing around in that polka dot halter top all day, just daring Sydney to make a pass at her, even when it wouldn't do Irving any good? And that was the only reason she was doing it. She didn't need Rosalyn to get off. She could do it herself, all she needed was a fresh pack of batteries.

Irving slapped Sydney's ass, signaling her to cheer up. "Hey, I wouldn't have my little pervert any other way. Like the lady said, let's party."

One arm on Sydney, the other undoing his tie, he started for the bedroom when Rosalyn stopped him with a hand on his chest. "What's this?" she demanded.

"What's what?" Irving asked, turning his body protectively away from her.

"_What's what_," Rosalyn repeated mockingly. "This!" She tugged out his collar to expose the splotch of red there.

"It's not what you think!" Irving insisted.

"Marinara sauce?" Sydney cried.

"It's nothing, me and the boys were getting lunch—"

"I made you lunch!" Sydney said, her voice raising an octave.

"We thought we'd go out to eat, talk some business, shoot the breeze, you know how it is. I had a martini or two, made some contacts, probably drummed up a lot of business for the gallery. I _had to _eat something, it would've been weird if I didn't. I told them I would prefer wheat germ, they would've thought I was a kook!"

"So you had a deep-dish pizza?" Rosalyn sniffed at his collar. "Extra cheese? Provolone? _Anchovies?_"

"It was Bill's idea! He ordered for us! I only had one slice, I told 'em I had a big breakfast, I swear!"

"You know the rules, Irv!" Rosalyn brandished her finger at him like it was a riding crop. "We only do this for you, because us girls have needs and you can't satisfy them with that bum ticker of yours!"

Sydney nodded along, not even noticing how strange it was for her to be allied with Rosalyn. "You think I want to eat her pussy? Or grab her ass, or suck on her breasts, or kiss her? Kiss _her?" _She threw her hand out to indicate Rosalyn, which Rosalyn thought was a bit unnecessary.

"Ladies, c'mon, it was just a little slip. Just a teensy, tiny, little-bitty cheat on my diet. Look at me, look at my tummy!" He pulled his shirt up. "Look at it! I don't even have that muffin thing anymore. You really think I _have _to stick to every little tiny thing the doctor says when I'm so much better?"

"That's the deal," Sydney said plainly. "I'm going to bed."

"Me too!"

Irving groaned as they walked out on him. He'd been waiting for their Friday night thing all week.

He wondered if Danny still hid those Playboys under the loose tile in the bathroom.

* * *

"I'm so fucking pissed!" Rosalyn said, putting in her curlers. At the counter beside her, Sydney brushed her teeth. Irving had bought a house that was way too big for a single-child family, but with Crazy Aunt Rosalyn (as Sydney thought of her) moving in, they'd sectioned off the many bedrooms and bathrooms into male zones and female zones. It was incredibly freeing to go to the bathroom and not have to put up with beard hair in the sink or a raised toilet seat.

Rosalyn often thought one of those great girl comics like Lily Tomlin should make a joke about how men couldn't put the toilet seat down. It'd probably get a lot of laughs, since it was so true.

"Here we are, two gorgeous women," here Rosalyn threw in a slew of furious gesticulating to convey, in three seconds, that while she admitted Sydney's beauty, she still saw herself as much sexier than the other woman, a more moral person, more intelligent, a better mother, etc. "Willing to degrade ourselves for a man as long as he does one simple thing and doesn't have a heart attack. And what does he do? _Men!_"

"I know. Irving's probably the best in the lot you can get without moving to Hollywood and dating Harrison Ford, and he still ain't much. Makes you wish you could just date a girl, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Rosalyn agreed, before frantically disagreeing. "Not that I would! Having sex with a lady is one thing, but _dating _one? I mean, c'mon, why would you wanna be so weird? I'm glad he had his marinara sauce, since now we don't have to have sex. I'm gonna thank Jesus tonight, for not making me have sex with you."

The thing was, as rational and objective as Sydney considered herself compared to Irving, and especially compared to Rosalyn, she still felt the need to prove a point sometimes. That's why she said what she said next.

"You know what would really teach him a lesson, though?"

"Jesus?"

"Irving."

Rosalyn put her hands on her hips. "No, what?"

"If we had sex without him. Didn't let him watch, didn't even let him listen. I bet it'd tear him up inside, knowing we were making it and he couldn't even get a peek."

Rosalyn's eyebrows fired up. "That's a great idea!" Then she kissed Sydney, who had honestly thought she would take more convincing.

* * *

Irving knocked on the bathroom door, much relieved after a brief conversation with the Playmate of the Month. "Girls, you alright in there? You've been a while. C'mon, come to bed. It's late."

"Sydney can't talk," Rosalyn reported. "She's going down on me. It's _so _hot and sexy!"

"What?" Irving dropped down to look through the keyhole, but they'd thought of that, even if the architect hadn't. The hole was plugged up—Irving thought by a pair of panties. He tried to see under the door. "Listen, I know you ladies are upset, but that's no reason to do anything rash now! Why don't you let me in and we'll talk about it?"

"Oh Gawd, Irv—she's licking my pussy! I always knew she was a slut, but I had no idea she was such a fucking rugmuncher! I wish you could see how crazy she's going for my cunt! She lives for it! Can't get enough of it!"

Inside, Sydney briefly removed her mouth from Rosalyn's sex. "You know what would really drive him crazy? If we gagged you. That way, he wouldn't even be able to get off on hearing you moan in pleasure."

Rosalyn's eyes sparkled. "Do it!"

So silenced, they made love. Both enjoyed it more than they thought the other did.

* * *

The diary went on in purple-prosed detail halfway between the lesbian pulp books Raven had found in Rosalyn's room and the Harlequin romances she'd found in Sydney's. It was clear to Mystique that they'd both enjoyed it more than they thought the other was. Rosalyn was glowing in her descriptions of Sydney's beauty, even if she was insistent on she herself being _stunning, _a 'one-of-a-kind beauty'.

Well, she was half right. The woman's biggest problem was being unwilling to admit her lust for the woman she was fucking. Human foibles. So odd. Raven wondered what she could do to help out her 'sister'… repay her for the kindness of allowing Raven to borrow her life for a few days.


	8. That Seventies Swap Part 3

"What are you doing in here?"

Raven looked up sharply. She'd been in Irving's den, looking for whatever information she could find on his bank accounts—boredom and repetition had made her thoughts wander. Now Sydney Prosser, the bane/light of Rosalyn's life had discovered her.

"Just looking for a pen," Raven said, of course flawlessly imitating Rosalyn's accent. "You'd think Irv would have one around somewhere."

"They're in the jar by the phone. Like always."

"Really? I could've sworn there weren't any."

Sydney wouldn't be put off so easily. Her hands were on her hips; she had a good lecture cued up. "Danny said you didn't fix him lunch."

"He's a big boy. He can get himself lunch if he wants."

Sydney shook her head. "Have you been drinking again?"

"I'm sober—" Raven restarted the sentence with a bit of outrage Rosalyn might apply. "I am _sober _as a _judge!"_

"Yeah, right." Sydney moved in close and smelled her breath. Raven stood there and let her. She liked having Sydney that close. For a woman who couldn't change her shape, Sydney had a pretty nice one. "You're actually not drunk."

"Don't sound so surprised," Raven huffed. "By the way, I know why you're really so concerned about my drinking habits?"

Sydney folded her arms over her breasts, an eyebrow up—_this ought to be good. _"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah—it isn't right to have sex with a girl that's had one too many. But when she's clean and sober, you don't have any excuse not to _fuck her."_

Raven saw Sydney's fingers tighten on her biceps, denting the flesh. "I—I don't want to—that was just for Irving, I would never—"

"I came so many times that night," Rosalyn hadn't been specific in her diary, but her dream journal had been full of volcanoes, lightning strikes, bombs going off—"Didn't you? Or did you hold it in until you could get to the shower and finger yourself?"

Sydney lowered her head. "I came."

Raven put her hand on Sydney's cheek. If Sydney thought it was a little cool to the touch, she said nothing. "And it was good, wasn't it? Liberating. We've both been so frustrated lately—didn't it feel _great _just to let go? Have something just for us? Irving can't, but even if he could—that's something else—it's not what we have—is it?"

How many times had Rosalyn thought these words, tried to say them, wished she could? The same dream in her journal, all the time, and she kept pretending she didn't know what it meant. Raven smiled inwardly. She wondered how relieved Rosalyn would be to come home and find that everything had been done for her so that she had exactly what she wanted.

"I don't know what we have," Sydney admitted, gasping when Raven leaned down and kissed her folded arms, peppering her lips along Sydney's forearm.

"We have a surprise for you." Raven took Sydney's hand, drawing it out of her crossed arms, and pulling it down to her pants. As the days passed, she thought the ray was wearing off. She'd been able to shift just enough to capture the real Rosalyn's curves, although she now preferred wearing clothes to shifting into them. But she still had enough juice for one of her favorite tricks. In the same way she could imitate a watch or a belt, she had long ago learned to shift herself a strap-on dildo. And the best part was, since it was technically part of her body, she could feel it. Just like a man would.

Sydney gasped as she felt the hard silicone surface, its sleek contours, its length. Raven smiled at her, all need and want. "And we have all the fucking you can handle," she told Sydney. "You've earned it."

There was a sofa in the corner of the den. Sydney thought a lot of the time Irving was 'working', he was just lying down and having a nap without any of the craziness to bother him. This was craziness too, though. The kind of craziness Sydney had gone to him for.

"Lock the door," Sydney pleaded, and Raven nodded tightly before going to it. She stripped off all her clothes on the way there, firmly turned the lock, then turned back to Sydney. In just her skin and shifted dildo, she felt almost herself again.

Sydney didn't undress so readily. She pulled down her jeans and her panties, kicked them off her long legs, and sat almost modestly on the sofa in her big Foreigner T-shirt. Irving had taken her to that concert.

Raven went to her. She had decided she would be gentle with Sydney, as gentle as she'd be with a virgin. Raven had used sex many, many times before to accomplish many different missions, but it'd lost none of its pleasure. She'd resolved to enjoy herself, even if it didn't fit a hundred percent with her cover. She didn't think Sydney would exactly mind.

She parted Sydney's legs, kissed each of her knees, saw the thatch of ginger pubic hair waiting for a woman's touch. She kissed above Sydney's knees, then on her thighs—now she smelt Sydney's arousal growing—but instead of going to it, she rose and kissed Sydney's stomach through the T-shirt. Sydney moaned incoherently; Raven silenced her with a kiss on the lips. It kept going and going, the other one prolonging it each time one thought of letting it end. Not passionate, exactly, but a slow, unyielding sharing of lips.

Somewhere in the middle, Raven opened Sydney up with the tips of her fingers. Then, as the kiss grew more heated, she rose—Sydney tilted her head up to keep the kiss going. Raven melted their lips together; their tongues stopped their dance and the two women breathed each other as Raven lowered herself onto Sydney. Into her.

Raven was a confident woman, bordering on arrogant. She considered herself a prodigy when it came to phalluses. She had seduced some of the best cocksmen in North America, and she had replicated their techniques to masterful effect on several willing women. She found fucking Sydney easy and recklessly enjoyable, producing moans from her as effortless as tapping out a melody on a Casio keyboard.

Still, as simple as it was for her to bring Sydney to orgasm, she still loved it. She quite lost herself in Sydney's tightness, her wetness, her heat. She didn't even notice Irving turned his key in the door and opening it. Nor the several minutes he spent staring in awe and excitement as her ass bounced up and down, driving her cock deep inside Irving's wife.

* * *

Rosalyn woke up in a hospital room right out of the Starship Enterprise. No Captain Kirk, though, damn the luck. Just a bunch of metal, a bunch of beeping things, a bunch of toning things. What were they monitoring, her or a robot?

It wasn't long after she woke up that the nerd came in. "Raven—I'm sorry to have to tell you this. I've run every test I possibly can with what I have to work with and all the results came back baseline. Raven… you're human."

Rosalyn sat up straight. "Of course I'm fucking human! What the fuck is wrong with you? You drug me, bring me to this crazy science lab, now you've run tests on me—all so you can tell me I'm human? _What the fuck did you think I was, a house plant?"_

"Raven, please, there's no need for this act. Whoever you think you're impersonating now, the ray has locked you in one single form. Hey, listen, if it makes you comfortable, you could undress." He tried a smile. "Maybe I could find some blue paint for when you're, err, naked."

She slapped him. "You've got big fucking problems, buddy, _major fucking problems! _And that's before I call my boyfriend. I'm dating Pete Muscane, you piece of shit! He's a legbreaker for the mob and when he finds out about you…"

Ignoring her, the nerd stroked his chin. "Are you really that disoriented? I knew the ray had a physiological effect, but I had no idea there could be mental degradation as well—"

_"Who are you saying is mentally degraded, four-eyes!?"_

He held up his hands placatingly. He seemed to do that a lot. "Alright, you're disoriented. I should have realized that sooner, I'm sorry. My name is Hank McCoy, I'm a friend of yours. Your name is Raven. I guess I'm a little hard to recognize without the blue fur—"

Oh God, he's a crazy person. Rosalyn immediately stopped thinking of pointing out the ways Pete Muscane would be doing Hank McCoy bodily harm. It'd come better as a surprise, anyway. Instead, she'd better play along with him. She spent all her time hanging out with a pair of grifters, after all. She should've picked up a thing or two. And if she'd convinced that slut Sydney that she was actually _enjoying _fucking her, then she could do anything.

"Raven—that sounds familiar," she said in a soft voice. "I'm sorry. I'm not really feeling myself. Everything's all wobbly and… blurry." She swooned. He caught her. This con stuff wasn't so hard. "Hank? Yeah, I… I think I remember. What happened to all your blue fur, Hank?"

"I started taking a serum, remember? To suppress my mutation? I take a shot every morning, and another if I get—worked up."

Oh. So that's what it was. A sex thing.

It was a guy, _of course _it was a sex thing.

Rosalyn used her most sultry voice. "Worked up?" she asked, innocently but with her eyes very un-innocent.

Hank swallowed hard. "Emotional. Or excited… any… natural… urges."

Rosalyn stroked his forearm. A big kid. Just like Irving. Wanted someone to take care of him, play with him, do all the hard work. How was she supposed to respect Sydney when her job was so _easy?_

Wait, was Hank's skin a little blue? "Usually I can fight it down," he said, pulling his hand away.

Rosalyn took his hand back. "Maybe you shouldn't fight what comes naturally."

When she kissed him, he responded readily. God, it was a good thing she was so hot.

* * *

Irving thought he was being rather understanding of his wife and ex-wife wanting to screw. It was obvious to him that they were bi, and half in love with each other besides. He didn't see what the big deal was. But the fact was, while he'd been letting them have their fun, he hadn't gotten any in months. Even when he'd been cheating with Sydney, he'd always made sure Rosalyn was well-satisfied.

And as progressive as he was when it came to Sydney and Rosalyn's tastes—regardless of the fact that it was quite a spectacle when they let him watch, and they usually let him watch—something in his masculine ego was just unprepared for what he caught them doing.

If they'd been feeling each other up, that'd be one thing. Fingering one another, sure, that was pretty much just masturbation. Wasn't like Rosalyn had ever gotten angry with him for getting a handjob. Even some licking—that was what women did, that was their thing—better they do it with each other than make him do it.

But fucking with a goddamned prick of their own? That was just going too far! He was the prick, goddammit! What's next, were they going to open tight jars without him? Get things off high shelves while standing on each other's shoulders? Jesus wept, but there were certain things you had men for and you couldn't just replace 'em! That'd be like him putting on a bra and wig to eat some girl out. What was the world coming to?

When he took a wheezing breath, Raven looked in his direction. She was not the least bit shy. "Ain't it great? Now you can just focus on getting better, Irv; we have our own cock to fuck with."

"Your own cock? You want cock, huh? You want cock so bad, you go to some sleazy sex shop where the owner would as soon rape you as look at you, you buy some filthy plastic thing, then you strap it on and _that's a cock?"_

"Irving, your heart—" Sydney started, but Raven shut her up with a quick, short thrust into her. She broke off in a moan.

"If you're feeling up to it—" Raven glanced at his crotch. It was obvious he was feeling very up indeed. "You can join in," she finished. "But I hope for Syd's sake you have something good to take its place."

Sydney marshalled her wits, even with Raven working the cock inside her. "Rosalyn, are you sure?"

Raven was. Irving wasn't a beauty like Sydney, but he was handsome enough, with a good-sized cock. Maybe a little thin up top, but after Hank, she could do with a little less hair. And, if Rosalyn was being truthful with herself in her own diary, his lovemaking wasn't unpleasant. Yes, Raven nodded. If she had to get caught up in a threesome with two humans, it might as well be these two. Wasn't like Lee Majors and Farrah Fawcett were available.

Sydney was still unconvinced. She'd just gotten used to lesbianism—polygamy seemed like something else altogether. "It's—it's perverse."

Smiling in a manner that was not at all like Rosalyn would wear, Raven pulled away from her, leaving Sydney abandoned with her legs open on the sofa. "Well, you'd better learn to love it," she said. "Because you're not getting it from me."

"Good!" Irving told her. "Get rid of that fucking fake! You need cock? You got it!" He roared, dropping his zipper. "You can try this on for size! Both of you!"

With barely another glance at Raven, Irving dropped onto Sydney and pile-drove into her. Her legs kicked out and she moaned suitably. Irving was not a subtle man, his fucking more power than finesse, but Raven could see how it was effective. Very effective. In moments, the two of them were so far gone that they didn't notice Raven absorbing the dildo back into her body.

Warmed by Raven's efforts, it only took a few minutes for Sydney to begin gasping, then crying out in orgasm. Irving buried his prick in her even as he pulled Raven to him, kissing her before he started a slow rhythm inside Sydney, pressing her firmly into the cushions.

"Both of us?" Raven asked. She wanted to egg him on.

"Damn straight!" He kissed her again, fiercely. "Get on your knees and I'll make you forget all plastic dicks!"

"I think he means it," Sydney said breathlessly, still recovering from her climax.

"Well, if it's that important to you…" Raven sighed, dropping to all fours beside Sydney.

Irving pulled out of Sydney, leaving her panting and sweat, and drove himself into Raven from behind, fucking her like a dog. With Sydney in the state she was, Raven thought she'd start masturbating, but she'd underestimated the other woman. Sydney threw herself up and kissed Irving for all she was worth, wanting to leach off some of the heat burning off him, like a sun they both orbited around.

Raven was growing more confident in her assessment of the threesome by the minute. Rosalyn, Sydney, they both burned cold. As much as they dressed it up in feelings or even tantrums, they used a sort of logic to determine what they wanted and then went after it. Irving, though, he was all heat, all emotion. He actually loved the both of them. He made it work, in some perverse way. They fought over him for the thrill of it.

Raven didn't share Sydney's emotional investment in Irving—the charge she got from fucking him right in front of, _with _her rival. But he knew what he was doing between her legs and she enjoyed the sight of him fucking Sydney's face with his tongue and she rubbed her clit with her hand. She came in short order; then Irving was withdrawn from her and into Sydney, gripping her to his chest as he continued his kiss and started his invasion. Sydney's naked ass was pressed against the armrest, her back ready to slump over it without Irving holding her up. He spread his hands on her slender, freckled back as his kiss move down to her cleavage. Raven ripped Sydney's shirt so he could get to it.

"Fuckme!" Sydney chanted again and again, all one word, pumped out of her with every thrust Irving made against her wet cunt. "Fuckme! Fuckme! Fuckme!"

Raven didn't do a thing to stop them. She pressed her bare breasts into Irving's back, feeling the muscles that had developed there since his heart attack, and sucked at his neck like a vampire. He was quick to pull his mouth from Sydney and part his lips for Raven. She kissed him over his shoulder, right in front of Sydney, and either Irving was thrusting harder or Sydney was much more receptive. He froze just before he came, holding himself deep inside Sydney but not moving an inch. Irving pulled slowly, painstakingly out of her, and Sydney gritted her teeth through every inch.

Then Raven was pulling Irving out of Sydney and rolling him over so he was lying right beside Sydney. She draped her leg over his hip, climbed atop him, and lowered her ass until she felt his cockhead rasp against her clit. She kept going until he was all the way in. Held him inside her for a moment, motionless like she was meditating. Then she reached over and fingered Sydney's cunt.

They were both overcome with lust as she rode Irving's cock. Irving's eyes were glazed over and his breathing raced ahead of him; Sydney was in much the same state. Raven worked her hips, raised and lowered her ass, filled herself with his cock, stretched herself wide. When the humans moved, they did it as one. Irving buried himself in her breasts, so like a guy, and Sydney kissed her. Raven rewarded the woman with another finger through her slit.

All too soon, though, Irving was switching partners again. He pushed Raven to the other end of the sofa and then threw Sydney on top of her, mounted them both so the redhead was sandwiched in the middle, getting his surging cock in her sex, Raven getting a luscious female body pressed against hers. But Irving only pumped into Sydney a dozen times before he pulled out, guided himself underneath her, and fucked into Raven.

"Take it!" he cried. "Take it! Take it all!" He continually pulled double duty, kissing the one while fucking the other, all while Sydney and Raven excitedly explored the contours of each other's aroused bodies. Both came most satisfyingly at the end of Irving's cock.

But, as Raven well knew, he was only human. In the end, it caught up with him, and as he pulled out of Raven, he overextended himself—fell back to the other end of the couch with his cock lurching in the air, purple-headed and double-length. Raven saw one last opportunity to one-up Sydney the Human, which she had to take if only for her own peace of mind.

She threw herself on Irving's cock with her mouth, taking it all the way to her gullet. Golden hair fanned out like an aura as throbbing pleasure filled her mouth. Her lips tingled as she sucked; even her tongue seemed electric.

Irving clasped her head in both hands like it was a massive jewel. "Hope this is unprocessed enough for you," he gasped.

His cock had solidified to total stiffness in her mouth, actually stretching her lips further. Now his first load, spurred by her tongue moving invitingly about the crown of his dickhead, splattered at the back of her throat. She gagged a little as it rushed down her gullet, but sucked wildly as more came to fill her belly. It got to the point where Irving thrust himself off the sofa, into Raven's skilled mouth. He groaned out loud as she continued to lick and suck to the point of torture, until he softened in her mouth and she finally released him. Then Raven turned and displayed her cum-coated mouth to Sydney.

Sydney was ready for her. She simply grabbed the other woman and pulled her into a hard, sour kiss. By the end of it, Raven thought Sydney had gotten more of Irving's cum than she had. By the time the cum had dwindled away between both sets of lips, Irving was sprawled on his back, out like a light.

"He did it," Sydney breathed. "Fucked us both at once. I thought he could… but I didn't _know."_

Raven nodded in agreement. It hadn't been bad at all—for a human.

* * *

Hank _was _turning blue. _God, _the guy was actually so nervous around her, he couldn't breathe. Rosalyn kept on kissing him. It'd served him right if he did pass out. She rubbed her thigh against his groin and felt his cock jump to life. Bigger than she'd expect for such a poindexter. When she looked up in his eyes, his handsome face was contorted almost bestially. Rosalyn took his glasses off. That was better.

"C'mon, you filthy animal—fuck me."

"You want an animal?" His breath virtually steamed out of his mouth. "I'll show you an animal!"

He wrenched her around so fast her head spun, savagely shoved her down atop the exam table, face down. Her dress was flipped up, her panties ripped down, and she knew the ripe white cheeks of her ass were now on display. His soft hands were rough now, opening up thighs to expose her defenseless cunt. Then he mounted her, half lying on top of her quivering ass to get his hot cock into her yielding passage.

Rosalyn cringed far forward, but there was no escape from his ramrod cock. She whimpered wildly as he started thrusting into her; a savage, masochistic delight was born from his harsh strokes. Her hands tightly gripped on the edge of the table, Rosalyn arched her back and flung herself against the lunging penetration. She hoped Irving could forgive her for giving into this wanton sex maniac. And if he couldn't, fuck him. At least Hank wasn't some ginger bitch like Sydney.

"Brute! You vicious brute!" Rosalyn cried, feeling his penis getting thicker and longer every second. Wasn't there an end to it? Behind her, she could hear guttural noises from Hank. She thought she could make out clothes ripping as well. Always the quiet ones… "Harder! Harder, you bastard!"

She was close, maddening close—no escalation to ready her for the sheer need she felt. All the stress and frustration of the day, then suddenly being able to lose herself in a hot fuck… her body rebelled, _demanding _all of the pleasure it was offered. She bucked beneath Hank uncontrollably, every movement demanding that it satisfy her. Abruptly, she felt his cock harden like cooling magma. Then it burned hotter than ever, spurting inside her once, twice, again. Rosalyn groaned in disappointment, feeling the peak of her orgasm still within range, seconds away, close enough to touch. But she knew from married life that here was where the night ended.

Only it didn't. After a moment's diminishment, Hank's member throbbed inside him more powerful than ever. He picked up the pace, now churning his own cum inside her, Rosalyn feeling it leak out of her tortured pussy. She gaped and looked back, wondering if he had somehow slipped in a dildo without her noticing it.

Hank paused as she looked at him in wide-mouthed shock. Blue fur had sprouted up all over his body, covering the burgeoning muscles that had taken over his lanky frame, rending his clothes in some places. His facial features had been distorted into a bestial mask, with sharp teeth replacing the ones he had smiled with before. Only his glasses remained on to tie together his monstrous new face with the old, nebbish one.

"Oh my God!" Rosalyn cried. "Why are you stopping? Don't _stoooop!"_

That was the difference between her and those two idiots she lived with. She always had her priorities in order.

* * *

Alex acted as air traffic control as the away team brought the X-Jet in for a landing. The Professor, Logan, and Remy had been successful in destroying Trask Industries' anti-mutation ray, but there was always the danger that blueprints or prototypes had survived. So the Professor had split the team, sending the others to find the ray's victim and devise a cure. They regrouped for a debriefing—all except for Logan and Remy, who wanted a drink instead.

"Someone wants to shoot a laser at me and steal my mutation, they're welcome to try," Logan said.

Remy added "I'm still the Gambit, mutation or no."

Honestly, Alex was okay with an accent-free debrief.

* * *

Xavier ran his hands through his thinning hair. "Hank, you told me it should have worn off by now. She only received a low dosage, _right?_"

"Actually, it may be worse than I anticipated." Hank moved his glasses up his nose, almost to his still moist hair. He was freshly showered and his clothes were new. "Raven's shown no sign of being able to shift, and she's evidenced extreme disorientation. For the longest time, she insisted she _wasn't _Raven, but a house wife named Rosalyn Rosenfeld."

"Rosalyn Rosenfeld?" Xavier asked, turning his wheelchair around. Why did that name seem familiar? "Anything else?"

"No—but, well—" Hank opened his mind, inviting Xavier's telepathy. _Before, when we had intercourse, she was always on top, but this time…_

Xavier eyed him intensely. "That's my sister you're thinking about, Hank."

"Sorry, Professor."

"I'll see what I can do for her," he said intently. "I know she doesn't like me poking around her brain, but perhaps, under the circumstances…"

A few minutes later, Xavier returned to the rec room, where Alex and Hank were playing two-on-one foosball with Peter, who had one arm behind his back. Hank was the first to notice and go check on the stricken psychic, which Alex would never forgive him for. If they'd let Peter go, maybe they would've beaten him.

"_That," _Xavier said firmly, "is not my sister."

"Told ya, Mr. Clean." Rosalyn walked by him, rubbing his bald head. "Now can we get me in a jet back to Jersey? I'm not paying cab fare for my own kidnapping! And the cabbies these days, I swear—if you can't speak English, how can I trust you to drive a car? How do you know what the P stands for?"

Alex leaned over to Xavier. "You were inside _her _head?"

"That is… how does someone even _know _that much about the Home Shopping Network?"


	9. That Seventies Swap Part 4

Raven sat on the bed she had entertained Irving and Sydney in the previous night. Things were different now. She was handcuffed—though, last night Sydney had been, but the circumstances were still different. _These _had been slapped on her by Peter before she'd even realized the X-Men were in the city. Charles had frozen the humans, all but Rosalyn. Now the X-Men were searching the house, making sure she hadn't left any surprises, while Rosalyn had asked for and gotten a moment alone. She stood over Raven, not judgmental exactly, but smug in a way Raven couldn't fault. It was better than the pity and sanctimony she got from the others.

"Like I said, sorry. It was you or me. If you're gonna slap me, get on with it."

"I'm not gonna slap you," Rosalyn said. "I just wanna know how you kept things so normal. I come back here and everything's clean, nobody's yelling—what gives?"

"I just acted maturely—treated everyone with respect—placed others' needs before my own—"

"No, really," Rosalyn insisted.

"I fucked them both."

"You bitch."

"I had to maintain my cover. Besides, it's what you all want."

"Just because I put up with that skank Sydney—"

"She really likes you…"

Rosalyn stopped short.

"So does Irv—Irving," Raven corrected herself. "You've got a really nice life here. Even with all the drama. It was nice being you for a while. Normal isn't such a bad thing—I just can't do it."

Rosalyn crossed her arms. "They were really into it? Both of them?"

"Yeah. But still, I'm sorry. You would've figured it out. I wish I could make it up to you—"

"Something tells me you can."

"Oh?" Raven looked into Rosalyn's eyes and saw a look she had only seen on men. It fit well on a woman. "Would that count as sex… or masturbation?"

"Who cares, as long as you get off?" Rosalyn reached down and hiked up Raven's skirt. She pulled her panties down in one smooth motion. "I was going to have to take these back anyway."

Rosalyn opened her twin's legs wide apart, fingers describing the smooth skin. She marveled at how alike they were; how beautiful they both were. What a world to have two hotties like them in it. But she had questions to be answered. Foremost: what she tasted like.

Rosalyn lowered her face to Raven's pussy and licked its entire breadth. Raven struggled against her bonds, the sudden pleasure overwhelming, demanding response. She wanted to grind Rosalyn's face into her sex, sit atop her. But all she ended up being able to do was feel the pressure inside her go unbearable. She quivered at the slightest of touches; the warm breath from Rosalyn's nostrils felt like a flamethrower on her tender core.

"You're so beautiful," Rosalyn moaned into the other woman. "So fucking beautiful…" She nibbled—as lightly as she could—on a flavorful portion of labia. Raven almost threw herself on the floor, she shook so hard. Rosalyn didn't stop, raking her teeth from the top of Raven's lips to the bottom. She tugged on them, driving hard moans out of Raven's body. Then she slid her tongue home. Wiggled it around until Raven's squirming bored her, then sucked her little clit almost off her skin.

Raven slid around, getting her legs around Rosalyn's head. She clenched her thighs as hard as her ecstasy suggested. "Suck it—give me all your tongue—let me feel it all over my pussy—"

Rosalyn gave Raven what she wanted—for a little while, at least. Then she ducked her head out from between Raven's legs. They clapped together like two boulders colliding. Rosalyn licked the inside of Raven's left knee. "You want me to do something? Why don't you show me just what it is you want done? You can show me right here…"

She stood up, hiking her skirt and presenting her vividly red cunt to her twin. Raven raised an eyebrow. She shaved, of course, but there were limits. You got a haircut; you didn't shave your head. Nonetheless, she tried it, and found the effect quite novel. She wondered if she could convince Irene to try it someday…

She paused, though—having walked the rim of the well, she looked up at Rosalyn before going for the water. Rosalyn jabbed her hips forward emphatically. Raven's tongue snaked out and succinctly described the act she would've enjoyed Rosalyn performing a moment ago.

"That's what I _liiike," _Rosalyn drawled, petting Raven's hair. It felt even softer and more voluminous than hers—she'd have to ask what shampoo Raven used. "Keep going!

She purred when Raven's tongue shot into her, stiff as a cock, and she twisted her hips from one side to the other, delivering her sex to the oral penetration. She wanted all of Raven's mouth used on her. Nothing else would satisfy her now.

Rosalyn was just on the other side of orgasm when a new fancy struck her. She pried Raven off her cunt and threw her twin down on the bed, fell down atop her, kissing her, tasting herself. She tasted just like Raven had!

Humming with pleasure, Rosalyn grinded her tongue against Raven, filled her hand with a heaving breast. Then she dropped away from Raven's gasping mouth and tongued her other tit. She loved mouthing her opposite number's cleavage. It was like some new, decadent form of masturbation. But she still had one last experiment to conduct.

"Can you grow a cock?" she whispered into Raven's ear.

"Why?" Raven asked. "Cock is work. Pussies are leisure."

"Because I've always thought if I had a prick, I'd be a better cocksman than Irving. Now's my only chance to prove it."

* * *

"So, wait, you're telling me there are two Rosalyns running around in the world?" Irving asked. "_How are we all not dead?"_

* * *

Rosalyn rode Raven like a bronco. It felt just like she was fucking herself, how she directed the shaft over her clit, controlled the rhythm inside her—laughing triumphantly, Rosalyn teased Raven with her breasts, running them up and down Raven's face, never close enough to her lips for a taste. Raven was growling with need and pleasure.

"We're a horny bitch, aren't we?" Rosalyn asked, clenching down on Raven.

Raven started to protest, but Rosalyn cut her off with her tongue and felt Raven give an answering shudder inside her.

"I know I am!" she cried, picking up the pace, bouncing up and down on Raven's cock like she was on a pogo stick. "But no one can make you feel as good as me! No one else knows what it's likeeee—"

Rosalyn sat back and closed her eyes, trailing off as an orgasm finally fired in her overheated sex. Raven's thick young cock continued to exert its pull inside her, like how astronauts needed the Earth to orbit around. Her body was glistening with perspiration, ass and hips working like a machine, her breasts two heavy melons bouncing seismically on her chest.

"Our cunt feels so good," Raven breathed. "I'm ready, I'm ready!"

Rosalyn thrashed herself on Raven's cock with breathless urgency. She was close as well. "Then go fuck yourself!" she screamed victoriously.

This human was more than she could take. Bucking off the bed with fresh strength, pounding herself up into the girl, Raven's overloaded balls erupted and Rosalyn felt it happen. Even as she came, she felt the prick leap inside her, then give the first jet of hot jism. She came all the harder, knowing she had defeated her twin.

"Yes!" she squealed, feeling shot after shot go off inside her. "Give it! Give it, you sweet bitch!"

Raven gasped out her satisfaction, climaxing in a long, breathless moan. Rosalyn undulated over her until the earthquake of their shared orgasm, and every vibration of it, had been absorbed back into their sated bodies. Then, filled with inner warmth, Rosalyn collapsed atop Raven in a dizzy heap.

Raven let the girl sink against her as she absorbed her emptied cock back into her body. She couldn't help but smile, dazed by the pleasure she'd received, and Rosalyn's face was a mirror to hers.

After all, Rosalyn mused, nothing was better than sex with someone you loved.

Epilogue

It was the middle of the night. No one slept. But Irving especially didn't sleep. "I can't believe you had sex with her."

"You two had sex with her. Now we're even."

"But you look exactly alike!"

"You're telling me you wouldn't have sex with someone who looked exactly like you?"

"No! Of course not!"

"What if he had a full head of hair?" Sydney needled.

"That's… not a fair question."

Rosalyn got out of bed. It entailed climbing over Irving, but he was being a jerk, so she didn't feel too bad about it. "I'm getting some water. You guys want anything?"

"You could put on a dress," Irving replied, put out. "If the neighbors look through a window…"

"They'll see me showing solidarity with my sister." Rosalyn held a fist in the air. "Nudist and proud!"


End file.
